


A Revolution Is A Simple Thing, But Love Is Not What Revolution's For

by cHarley_Quinn



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Anastasia (Broadway), Amnesia, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Yuri as Anya/Anastasia, okay the enemies part is really really small, set in a parallel world with magical powers, this fic is finished i just need time to translate it, viktor as the dowager empress maria, with lyrics from the musical and other easter eggs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26871904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cHarley_Quinn/pseuds/cHarley_Quinn
Summary: A homeless boy, looking for his family.A soldier who wants to fulfill his father's last wish.And the legend about the lost Prince of the Tsar's family.
Relationships: Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	1. Prologue. Once Upon A December

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [A Revolution is a simple Thing, but Love is not what Revolution's for](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/739770) by myself. 



_Far Away, Long Ago_

_Glowing Dim As An Ember_

_Things My Heart Used To Know_

_Things It Yearns To Remember_

"Yura, are you still awake?"

Viktor pushed the door handle to Yuri's room and entered the room carefully. It was dark, so Viktor murmured a few words quietly. Instantly, a small, glowing ball appeared between his hands, lightening the room slightly.

At first sight the room seemed empty. Then Viktor noticed that on the bed the blankets and the pillow were missing. Smiling, he continued to look around the room and finally discovered the blanket, which was stretched over two chairs and the table and weighed down with books, hanging down to the ground.

Viktor clicked amusedly with his tongue, then he walked towards the Blanket Castle and carefully stuck his head inside.

And indeed, his little half-brother sat there on one of the cushions while clutching one of his stuffed animals.

"Yura, are you hiding from me?" Viktor asked in surprise. When Yuri noticed him, he slipped away from him a bit.

Viktor sighed and pushed himself further into the interior of the blanket castle. "But you have no reason to be angry with me," he replied. "After all I am your favorite brother."

Yuri sticked out his tongue. "No more," he explained. "You just leave me alone."

Viktor sat up straight and pulled the pillow with Yuri towards him. Yuri squealed out loud. Angrily, he looked at him.

"Go away!" he demanded and threw the stuffed animal at Viktor. Viktor caught it and pressed it against his chest.

"Oh, Yura. You hit me," he moaned theatrically and threw himself backwards. "I ... I don't think I can do it anymore. My dear Yura, I can already see the light."

Yuri rolled his eyes. "You're a very poor actor," he said and giggled anyway.

Satisfied, Viktor sat up again and looked at the stuffed animal in his hands. It was difficult for himself to return. Every time he went back after the school vacations, it broke his heart in the end to leave Yuri behind.

Thoughtfully he looked at the stuffed animal in his arms. It was Yuri's oldest stuffed animal, a cat that had seen better days. A gift from Viktor when Yuri was just a few months old. The once bright black had faded and one eye was missing. But whenever Yuri was told to throw away this old toy, he reacted defiantly and refused.

Viktor turned the plush toy in his hands and murmured some strange sounding words again. Instantly the gray fur became the black it once had been and a button eye magically appeared. Satisfied, he handed the repaired stuffed animal to Yuri.

"If you behave, I will get you a real cat the next time I see you," he promised him.

Yuri blinked several times, his mouth formed into an "O". Then he jumped up in a hurry and threw himself around Viktor's neck. "Oh, really, really, really?"

Viktor smiled and then pressed Yuri to him. "But of course. As a Czarevich, I would never break a promise. And especially one I made to my dearest brother."

Yuri giggled and pressed the stuffed animal to himself. "Do you want to know what I'm gonna call her?" Grinning, he looked up at Viktor.

"But of course." Viktor leaned forward so Yuri could whisper the words better into his ear.

"Really?" Viktor looked at him in amazement. "An interesting name."

Yuri yawned loudly. "It will be my cat, so I can call it whatever I want," he explained quietly.

Another yawn. Viktor hummed a lullaby and kept stroking his finger across Yuri's forehead and nose.

"Hmm, Vik..." Yuri muttered, then his head fell against Viktor. Viktor muttered another few words and the blanket over their heads rose from its place, while at the same time the books floated back on the shelf. He stood up while holding Yuri and the pillow in his arms and carried him to the bed. Carefully he laid Yuri on the mattress and pushed the pillow under his head. Once Yuri was asleep, he was a sound sleeper, but still Viktor didn't want to risk anything and wake him up again. He reached for the blanket, which was still floating, dissolved the spell that had made it float, and then covered Yuri.

"Sleep well, little prince," he whispered to him and then pressed a gentle kiss on his forehead. Yuri grumbled slightly in his sleep and cuddled closer to his stuffed cat.

Viktor would have liked to stay a little longer, but the train to Parizh would leave soon. So he left the room again.

"Yakov, you waited for me." He put on a smile when he saw the old man in the hall. Yakov served the family since Viktor was little. He belonged to the czarist army and protected the czarist family from the beginning. When Viktor stepped towards him, he saluted him.

Viktor laughed slightly. "Yakov, you know you are supposed to forget etiquette when we are alone. Aren't you a general? Who should you be afraid of if you do not obey the rules?"

Yakov questioningly raised one of his bushy eyebrows and grabbed the suitcase that stood next to the door.

"Your grandfather, His Majesty, for example," Yakov murmured. Together they walked down the corridor and left the palace through a side exit. The car was already waiting for him. An inconspicuous, black car. It had been Yakov's idea. No one would suspect that the Czarevich would travel in such a car.

Viktor sighed heavily while Yakov stowed the suitcase. The way to the station was not far from the palace, a distance he would normally have walked. But for weeks there had been unrest in Rossiya. Rumors of a revolution were circulating. Viktor let his gaze wander. The city had been quiet since Czar Nikolai had issued a curfew. And yet, Viktor was aware that the rebels still met somewhere. He could not blame them, even though he knew it was ridiculous. Training in the magical arts was, after all, reserved for the nobility. And because they mastered magic, they were the nobility. It had been this way for thousands of years and it would always be this way.

"Vitya?" Yakov's voice tore him from his thoughts. He had opened the back door of the car.

Viktor glanced at him and then smiled gently. As long as Yakov was there, he had nothing to worry about. He leaned forward and pressed a goodbye kiss on his cheek.

"Take care of Yuratchka, promise?" Viktor asked him as he got into the car. Then he nodded at the driver.

"But of course, my prince," Yakov promised, then closed the door. The car drove off.

*

Yuri was tired.

He had had a wonderful dream. His plush cat had suddenly come alive and had grown huge. Yuri had been riding her to the university and freed Viktor from the clutches of an octopus, which had the face of his own tutor. Together they had walked on the cat to the sun, which was actually just a giant cookie.

A loud bang made him flinch and he knocked over the glass of milk. "Maman, excuse me," he murmured and looked at his mother. Yakov hurried out of the room where they were having breakfast. His mother, Duchess Sophia, looked up at her father in panic and ignored the fallen glass.

" Papa, what was that?" she asked anxiously.

"Is it the rebels?", "Oh, Marie, stop this nonsense, they can't get in here!" "Maman, I don't want to die!" His three older sisters spoke in disarray.

"Be quiet!", Nikolai ordered, and with one blow they fell silent. He reached for his tea and took a sip. The door opened and Yakov entered again.

"Speak, my old friend," Nikolai told him.

"The rebels," Yakov explained. "They have invaded the palace."

Yuri put his hands over his mouth. He had heard about them, about the rebels who were jealous of their magic. Next to him, Katherina burst into tears.

"Are we going to die now?" she asked aloud.

"Of course not", her grandfather reassured her. "Yakov, where to?"

"There is a servant's corridor hidden in your study," Yakov replied. "It leads to the basement and then into a tunnel to the edge of town. Wait for me in the cellar. You just have to turn the left lantern next to the portrait to the side."

Nikolai frowned. "Why haven't I ever heard of this passage?"

"Your Majesty, it is not your job to know the routes of the employees and the less people know about this tunnel, the better," Yakov reminded him. "My men are doing their best to stop the rebels, but still you must leave here."

"But of course." Sophia stood up and instantly Yuri and his sisters jumped from their seats as well. Katherina and Marie hurried around the white breakfast table to help their grandfather get up.

It was a miracle that they made it to the second floor to the study without encountering the rebels. Shots and screams could be heard in the distance.

"Maman, I don't want to die," Marie whined again. Yuri rolled his eyes. They would not die if they only hurried.

*

Yuri approached his grandfather, who was busy turning the lamp.

Or rather, he was trying to turn the lamp.

"What's wrong, Papa?" The Duchess looked at him questioningly.

Repeated shots. Yuri winced and clung to his grandfather's leg. Katherina, Marie and Nadia had huddled together. Nadia prayed incessantly.

"The lamp cannot be turned," Nikolai told his daughter.

"Maybe Yakov made a mistake," she wondered and then grabbed the lamp on the right. Several times she tried to turn it, but in vain.

"Maman, why don't we go on?" Marie asked anxiously.

But before she could answer, the door was opened with a key. Three men stepped inside. They all wore a red cloak with the emblem of the rebel army on it - a broken magic wand. Their faces were hidden behind black masks.

"What are you doing here?" Nikolai walked towards them, hands up. He muttered a magic spell, but nothing happened. Stunned, he stared at his hands. "What?"

"Old man, your spells will not help you as long as the poison is in your body," one of the rebels said mockingly. "Was the tea good?"

Nikolai froze. His grandchildren did not yet master her magic and even if Katherina had an outstanding talent, her magic would not compete with four adults. His daughter Sophia hadn't used magic since the death of her second husband - Yuri's father - and she too had drunk from the tea.

The tea that Yakov had poured for them.

His gaze flitted over the four rebels. Two of them were skinny and lanky, the man who had addressed him was broad and muscular. But the fourth rebel had the same stature like his friend.

Nikolai sighed and then stepped before his family. "Is this what you want?" he asked aloud. "If you want me to abdicate as Czar, I will do it with these words."

The leader of the rebels spat in his face. "Do you really think you and your family can just walk away?"

His daughter gasped for breath and Yuri rushed forward if Nikolai hadn't stopped him and pushed him backwards against Sophia. "Hold him down," he ordered her.

"Fine, you want me. I beg you, let my family go. I'll come with you."

Once again, the muscular soldier laughed. "I told you, you and your family will not escape so easily." He stepped back and took the rifle from his shoulders.

"Magic must die if it cannot belong to everyone," he declared aloud. "We have suffered from you long enough. And we will wipe out every noble, every one with magic if we have to. Rossiya will enter a new era. An era without magic."

"An era without magic?" Nikolai repeated the words stunned. "You are insane. There are children here. Children who haven't even mastered their magic."

"But they have magic," replied the rebel and reloaded his rifle. "That is enough."

Then he pointed his gun at the czar's family. The other three rebels did the same. Only one hesitated briefly before raising his rifle.

Marie cried incessantly. Yuri had rushed to him again and his little fingers were digging into his trouser leg.

Nikolai gently patted the head of his grandson. "Everything will be all right," he promised him. "Close your eyes, Yuratchka."

Yuri sniffed and then obeyed. Nikolai sighed and let his eyes wander over his family. His daughter Sophia, the youngest, while his other children had died in the crib. His three granddaughters, Katherina, Marie and Nadia, all only one year apart and all different in character. Yuri, his youngest and dearest grandchild.

"Why, my old friend?," Nikolai finally asked and turned his gaze to the rebel behind whose mask he suspected Yakov.

The rebel flinched. For a few minutes they just stared at each other.

Then the rebel stepped forward and dragged Yuri to him. Yuri screamed and kicked around and insulted the rebel with words for which he would otherwise have been grounded for days.

"And where exactly are you going with that brat, Feltsman?" asked the muscular rebel.

"He's only six years old, Altin," Yakov barked, and behind Nikolai, Sophia and her daughters gasped for breath as they recognized the voice. "You have a son of your own and would not want him to see something like that. I will finish him in the next room."

Altin stared at him silently and then rolled his eyes. "You are effeminate," he murmured and then stepped aside to let him pass.

Nikolai clenched his hands into fists to arm himself. Then someone shot, three times in a row, and each time his heart stopped. Sophia's cry for her son tore him apart inside. Marie, Nadia and Katherina cried loudly.

Yakov returned. He had bite marks on his hand and Nikolai suppressed a smile. Yuri was a fighter. Even in his last breaths he had not given up.

"To the end of magic," ordered the rebel named Altin and then the shots were fired.

*

After the execution they had presented the people with the body of the last Czar. There had been further uprisings. Nobles who tried to flee and were captured. But now it was late at night, the palace was empty and Yakov's footsteps echoed through the corridors.

He had not wanted it to come to this. Their plan had been to depose the Czar and the rest of the czar's family was to be banished from the country. There was never any talk that they would execute the czar's family. But when he granted Altin and the other rebels access to the palace, the latter had told him about the change of plan.

"Yuri?" He unlocked the door and entered the small adjoining room right next to Nikolai's study. On the wall facing the study was a white chest painted with floral ornaments. Yakov knelt down, holding the oil lamp with one hand while lifting the heavy lid with the other.

Yuri lay sleeping on the winter coats. Yakov sighed heavily. He had no idea what had driven him to save Yuri. Was it the promise he had made to Viktor or the judgmental look of his old friend Nikolai? He only knew that he had done it. Just as he had insisted that Viktor returned to Parizh one night earlier than planned. He could only hope that Viktor didn't do anything stupid and that he wouldn't set foot in Rossiya again. He could hide Yuri, his magic would soon fade away. Viktor would reawaken the magic when he returned.

"Yuri, wake up!" He shook the little boy gently by the shoulder.

Yuri grumbled and opened his eyes. Blinking, he looked around and then sat up.

"Who is Yuri?" he asked in surprise.

Yakov frowned. The light of the oil lamp fell on the back wall of the chest and he noticed the hole. Hurriedly he bent down and looked through it. He gasped for breath when he saw the study.

"Yuri," he replied and stood up again. "Yuri, that's your name."

Yuri looked at him without understanding. "Why can't I remember?"

"It doesn't matter," muttered Yakov and lifted Yuri up. It was better if Yuri did not remember. "Come, let us go."


	2. A Rumor In St. Petersburg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the kudos and the comments. It makes me so happy that you read this. I don't have much to say, just have fun with this chapter. <3 <3 <3

_It’s A Rumor, A Legend, A Mystery_

_Something Whispered In An Alleyway_

_Or Through A Crack_

_It’s A Rumor That’s Part Of Our History_

_Ten years later_

Yuri's stomach growled.

He pulled his scarf over his nose and mouth and pressed his hands against his stomach to suppress the growl. When was the last time he had eaten something? It had been too long.

Yuri dragged himself along, colliding with other passers-by again and again. Angry abuse followed him as he hid the new purse deep in the pockets of his oversized coat. It was market day, the perfect time to get some money. The place was full of different people doing their grocery shopping.

But his stomach growling would still kill him and Yuri had no intention of starving to death.

Searching, he looked around. One of the fruit merchants was talking excitedly to a customer who was complaining about the increased price of the apples. Slowly he walked towards the stand. The merchant complained loudly that the customer simply doesn't have to buy apples.

Yuri looked around. No one seemed to be interested in him, but he was used to that. People only cared about themselves and their families. But certainly not for a sixteen-year-old street boy. After all, Yuri was not the only street child.

Quickly his fingers grabbed one of the apples and pushed it into his coat pocket next to his wallet and his stuffed cat. No one noticed him. Satisfied with himself, Yuri went on. A few stalls later he took the apple out, cleaned it on his coat and then took a bite. He pulled a face as the acid of the apple filled his mouth. He liked the sweet apples much better. But he couldn't complain. The main thing was that it was something to eat.

He was about to take another bite when suddenly a hand wrapped itself around his wrist and grabbed him roughly so that he dropped the apple into a puddle in shock.

"And where exactly did you get this apple?," a young man asked. Yuri looked up and was startled when he saw the red uniform. It was one of the soldiers of the Rossiyan government. Yakov had warned him to avoid these people.

And now, of all people, one of the Red Soldiers had caught him. Yuri had heard the rumors about people who said something against the government and then simply disappeared overnight. From spies lurking on every corner.

"Leave me alone," Yuri cursed, and his free hand went into his coat pocket, looking for something to defend himself with.

"Asshole!" he grumbled and threw the wallet at the young soldier. The wallet hit him in the face and the young man let go of Yuri, cursing.

Yuri stumbled back a few steps and then fell away. "Damn it!" he cursed. Not only had he lost his food, but also the stolen money. And he couldn't go back to the market. Surely the guy there would be looking out for him.

"Freeze!" the soldier shouted to him. Damn, the guy wouldn't give up. Yuri jumped over a small wall and hurried across the street. A look over his shoulder told him that he was still being chased.

The old czar's palace came closer. Rumor has it that it was haunted. Well, ghosts were always better for Yuri than a Red Soldier. The chain wrapped around the palace gates was strong and stable and Yuri used it as a support to climb over the gate.

With a plop he landed on the other side. Grinning, he looked around and stuck his tongue out at the soldier, then he walked on and circled the palace.

The front entrances were certainly closed, but maybe there was a chance that one of the back entrances was still open or that he could smash a window.

Yuri stopped when he discovered a smashed glass door covered only with wooden panels. Hectically he kicked against the plates until they came loose and Yuri pushed himself inside the palace.

He found himself in a white room whose walls were covered with ivy. In the middle was a white table, surrounded by six chairs. A glass had fallen over and a thick layer of dust lay on the dishes.

Yuri swallowed nervously. The Czar's family had been at breakfast when the rebels had raided the palace. Was this the room where they had been sitting?

The crunch of the stones and the sound of approaching footsteps made Yuri flinch. "Doesn't this guy ever give up?," he cursed again and left the room.

Yuri looked up and down the corridor and then ran to his right. The tapestry had faded and hung in streaks from the wall. At the end of the hallway there was only one staircase leading up.

Yuri hurried up the stairs to the next floor and then down the hallway. In the middle of the hallway was a double door, one side slightly open.

He squeezed through the door when he heard the approaching footsteps.

The door fell into the lock and Yuri breathed a sigh of relief. He would certainly not find him here.

Slowly Yuri went down the stairs. He was in a ballroom. Huge chandeliers hung from the ceiling. The staircase he was now walking down was once the staircase that the tsar's family had used to enter their balls.

Astonished, Yuri frowned. How did he know that? Curiously, he looked around. At the other end of the room was another double door, through which the other guests must have come and gone.

Surely this ballroom must have been beautiful once. Yuri could literally see it before him. The musicians in the corner and all the people in magnificent dresses. It almost seemed to Yuri as if he could really see them. Figures were dancing gracefully across his memory.

He blinked and the image disappeared. Yuri was alone in the ballroom.

A thick wooden plank blocked the exit. Yuri swallowed. When the soldier found him, he was trapped. The room was empty and there was no way to hide.

" I finally found you," sounded the voice of the soldier behind him. Yuri spun around. The young man who had been chasing him now slowly came down the stairs. Yuri stumbled backwards until he hit the wall. There was no way out.

Well, at least he would see Yakov again. And maybe his own family, too.

The young soldier walked down the stairs and then crossed the ballroom. Just before Yuri, he put his hand in his jacket pocket. Yuri wanted to say that he had stolen only one apple after all and certainly did not deserve to be shot for it.

But then the young man pulled out something wrapped in paper and unpacked it.

"Here," he told him and held the sandwich out to Yuri. Yuri looked stunned at the thick slices of bread, between which he discovered a slice of sausage, and then back to the young soldier.

The expression on the young man's face was stoic and serious. Up close, he actually looked quite good. His sides and the back of his head were shaved, the rest of his black hair was combed back. Wide shoulders and a sharp jaw, with which he could probably kill someone. Broad, straight eyebrows. If he wasn't a Red Soldier, Yuri would certainly have approached him.

"It's not poisoned," the soldier added and then bit off a small piece. "You see?"

Yuri hesitated. He was so hungry, but maybe that was just a trick to catch him again.

The young soldier seemed to have guessed Yuri's thoughts, for suddenly he carefully laid the bread with the paper on the floor and then took several steps backwards.

He raised both hands and Yuri grabbed the bread.

Damn, that was tasty. It was just dry wholemeal bread with a slice of sausage that was much too hard and yet it was the best thing Yuri had eaten in days. Moaning, he sat down and took his time chewing. But finally the bread was eaten. Yuri looked apologetically at the young soldier.

" This wasn't intentional," he murmured. "I didn't mean to eat your meal."

"All is well," the young man waved and then sat down too. "I offered it to you after all."

Yuri frowned. Surely the soldier would not let him go again just like that. He had no chance to escape and surely Yuri couldn't surprise him again. So why didn't the guy arrest him?

"Otabek Altin," the soldier suddenly said. "That is my name."

 _Altin_. The name triggered a memory in him, but the more Yuri tried to think, the more his head hurt.

"Yuri," he finally replied.

"Yuri and...?" Otabek looked at him with interest.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Just Yuri. Yakov said I have lost my memory," he recounted. "I do not know where I came from."

"And this Yakov did not know either?"

Yuri hesitated. He couldn't tell this Otabek too much. One wrong word and he would end up on the pillory.

"No," he replied.

Otabek just looked at him for several seconds, his gaze intense. "Why do you lie, Yuri?"

Yuri rolled his eyes. "You're dumber than you look if you think I'd tell someone like you more about myself."

Otabek smiled slightly and somehow it felt good that Yuri had drawn that emotion out of him. Then he unbuttoned the buttons of his red uniform jacket, took it off and threw it behind him.

"There. Now I am just Otabek," he explained. "And everything you tell me, no one else will know, I promise."

Yuri looked at him stunned. It was cold in the castle, and surely Otabek must be freezing now.

"Yakov told me I had relatives in Parizh," he murmured. "But I do not know who or where exactly. He died before he could tell me more."

"I am sorry for you."

"Don't be," Yuri replied. "After his death, I learned that he was with the rebels. I found his old uniform. I hate him."

"Why? The Czar's family deserved what they got."

Yuri looked at him angrily. But before he could say anything, Otabek continued.

"That was what my father used to say every day. Serik Altin belonged to the group of rebels who had assassinated the Tsar's family at that time."

Yuri swallowed. So that's why the name sounded so familiar.

"You really shouldn't steal," Otabek told him. Yuri rolled his eyes. If the government did not want him to steal, it should not let him starve. "Next time you might not get away so easily."

He got up and then went to his jacket, picked it up from the floor. "The palace is empty," he murmured more to himself than to Yuri. "And in the corridors there are certainly many places to hide. Still better than sleeping under the bridge."

Yuri blinked. Had Otabek just suggested that he should stay in the palace? But before he could say anything, Otabek had already put his jacket back on.

"Why?" Yuri asked cynically. "Why are you so nice to me? What do you want from me?"

Because if there was one thing he had learned on the road, it was that such things always came with a price.

"It's your eyes," Otabek finally replied and lifted the wooden beam off the support. "You have the eyes of a soldier. Wait for me tomorrow morning in the breakfast room, where you came in. I will bring you something to eat. Then you won't have to steal anymore."

Yuri blinked, but before he could say anything, Otabek had disappeared again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there is Otabek! When the idea came to me, I knew immediately that Otabek would take over the role of Gleb and not Dmitri. It just fits so much better. Don't worry, there will be a happy ending for them. Only the way there will be rocky.   
> Thank you very much for reading. I appreciate your opinions on the chapter.


	3. The Neva Flows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, it's me. I'm so sorry, that I haven't updated this fic in a while. I just haven't had the energy to translate the next chapter in the last few months.

_I Heard The Shots. I Heard The Screams._

_But It’s The Silence After I Remember Most._

_The World Stopped Breathing_

_And I Was no Longer A Boy._

_The eyes of a soldier._

Otabek stared at the ceiling above him. It was covered with water stains and in some places the wallpaper was coming loose.

It wasn't a lie what he had said to Yuri. He really had the eyes of a soldier.

It was only on his way back, when he passed the family portrait of the Tsar's family Nikiforov-Plisetsky, that he noticed it. The youngest grandson was sitting on the tsar's lap. Green eyes gazed proudly at him. Green eyes that almost had something soldierly about them.

Yuri had the eyes of the tsar's family. But that was ridiculous.

On the other side of his room, which he shared with a colleague, the latter muttered something quietly in his sleep and slid restlessly back and forth, so that his bed squeaked loudly.

The tsar's family was dead. No, that wasn't true. Viktor Nikiforov-Plisetsky was still alive. But since the execution, the prince hadn't set foot in his country. The monarchy was forbidden and if Viktor even crossed the border, he would be executed as well.

He lived in Frantsariya under the protection of the ruling Giacometti family. By pure coincidence, Viktor had left the day before the attack.

Otabek's father had ranted often enough how much he hated that Viktor was still alive. How he would just go to Frantsariya himself to kill the last of the Nikiforov-Plisetskys. But his leg was bad since it had been shot.

"Promise me, Beka," he had said on his deathbed, looking pleadingly at his only son. "My son, promise me that you will finish it. The Nikiforov-Plisetskys must all be destroyed. Viktor and ..." He coughed, spitting blood. "... And the rumor that the youngest son also survived."

And Otabek had promised him. Just as he had become a soldier because his father expected him to.

That he had given Yuri his bread was the first time he had acted independently. He didn't understand why he had done such a thing. The streets of Sankt Peterburg were full of starving juveniles who stole every day to get food or money.

But something in Yuri's eyes, staring at him with such hatred, had sparked something in Otabek that he couldn't explain to himself.

Otabek turned on his side and looked out the window. From his room he had a good view of the Neva, the river that flowed through the capital. If his father hadn't acted then, they would still be suffering under the tyranny of magic. Families would be torn apart because the tsar would declare anyone a noble who possessed magic himself. Often enough magic flowed within a family, but from time to time it happened that someone from a non-magical family suddenly developed these abilities. Most of them tried to hide their talent. Magical persons of a non-magical family were torn from their families at an early age and kept away from them. Contact of a magical person with his non-magical family was strictly forbidden. They were punished if they tried to do so.

And the Tsar's family had been the most powerful magicians in the land. The Tsar was the anchor of magic and as long as he lived, new magical people would always be born.

They had to die. That was the only solution, according to his father when he returned home. _It's time for you to grow up, Otabek._

And for ten years, magic had been dying out. Those who still possessed magic fled the country or went into hiding. Those who were captured were either in prison or executed. They stopped at no one. Tsar Nikolai's grandchildren were sixteen, fourteen, thirteen and ... Yuri Nikiforov-Plisetsky had been just six years old.

If he were still alive ... Then he would be about the same age as Yuri.

Those were pipe dreams. Yuri Nikiforov-Plisetsky had died with the rest of his family.

 _But_ , a voice in his brain announced itself. _If Yuri didn't remember who he was, wouldn't he be the perfect way to get to Viktor Nikiforov-Plisetsky?_

**Author's Note:**

> Hello to anyone reading this :D  
> In my defense, Yakov is actually one of my favorite characters from YOI. But I needed someone who would betray the czar 's family and Yakov just offered himself. The Fic is translated from German, so I apologize for any grammatical mistakes and the like.  
> I hope to see you again at the next chapter. Then we will get to meet Otabek and those who know the musical will surely already know what role he will play.  
> Thanks for reading!


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